


Entirely Unexpected

by Gilrin (GilornethTheGold)



Series: A Place In This World [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (or they will be), Ethan and Aiden are part of pack, Fluff, Gen, Homeless Twins, Insomnia, Insomniac Stiles Stilinski, Mentions of Nightmares, Post 3a, Stiles is awesome, Were-Creatures, Werewolves, enemies to frenemies, pre 3B, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilornethTheGold/pseuds/Gilrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insomniac nights, storms and nefarious Werewolf twins taking refuge in his beloved Jeep are the current bane of Stiles' existence.</p><p>Maybe, maybe if he's not permanently scarred by the latter encounter- Stiles can help out a homeless friend (in this instance, a friend is a friend without an 'r' in the middle. Just don't mention that to Aiden)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entirely Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This pretty much popped out of nowhere. I watched Teen Wolf till season 3b this summer and while the show is incredible I don't know if I'm going to see season 4 and 5 as I heard the series goes downhill from there. I so wished to see Twins redeeming themselves and being a part of Pack!
> 
> And this is unbetaed so there will be quite a few mistakes ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

He's tired- no that's far too an inadequate word to remotely describe what he's currently enduring- he's exhausted, drained, fatigued.

The fact that in his absent musing, he's gone and printed out a page listing various synonyms of _tired_ in scarlet block letters testifies to his mental state.

Stiles stretches his arms above his head and let's out a sigh. A dull ache has settled in his legs, his back smarts from leaning into the illuminated computer screen for hours, his head throbs and his eyes have taken on a haunted look; further being emphasised by the shadows that lines them.

Yet sleep, the wretched royal-pain-in-the-arse thing it was, simply refused to come to him. It's far more stubborn than Lydia Martin when she's set on working out their usual 'furry' problems by meticulous research, analysis and logic- accepting and expecting no short cuts at all.

Logic can go, play whack-a-mole by itself in a corner. For it makes no sense, no _logic_ that he's barely been getting five hours sleep a day- the statistics gradually reducing with each passing day.

Stiles has been losing sleep for so long so he doesn’t know what it’s like to feel rested. He thinks back to time when he dozed off at Scott's because they watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy back to back (and introduced Isaac to the incredible world of Tolkien) and can’t recall what his body must have felt like in that blissful unconscious state.

The werecoyote incident (just how many were-things were roaming the world?!) proved to be a welcome but short-lived distraction, his insomnia is kicking in once more. The cherry on the top is the fact that even if he manages to doze off for a short while in between the stretch of the endlessly long hours of the night, there's no restful slumber for him. The monumentally awful nightmares see to that.

He's now having another problem, for Stiles can't remember having so much trouble with his chemistry homework before and it makes him nervous, panicked about how he’ll finish the school year. It’s like the alphabets and numbers that don’t make ant sense; he’s off balance, dazed and frustrated and getting increasingly fond of multi-syllable synonyms.

No, cut that out. He's always been fond of multi-syllable synonyms.

There's a drizzle outside and usually Stiles doesn't mind rain that much long as he isn't caught in the downpour. The normally soothing pattering of the raindrops against his windowpane is currently driving him bonkers however. He barely resists the urge to shove his fist through the laptop screen. Apart from his insomnia, another royal pain in arse manifested itself in human form has been quite diligently working to somehow get his father kicked out off his department; there's no way Stiles will be getting a new one anytime soon.

A walk would settle him, he decides. Or even better, a round in his beloved jeep. 

Cautiously wending his way outside lest he rouses his overworked, equally sleep-deprived father, Stiles quickly makes for his faithful, pale blue vehicle. He slides the door open, clambering inside and collapsing down on the comfortably worn through driver's seat. 

A relieved sigh later he ignites the engine, and curls his slender fingers around the curved surface of the steering wheel, while hoping that the sound of rain would mask its roar.

Dark hair damp from the rain, Stiles turns up the heat and reaches out to connect his HTC's headphone jack to the stereo when-

"Thanks for turnin' the heat on, mate." A deep voice rumbles from behind. "'M hopin' to catch a few winks though, you aren't planning to sleep-drive at the moment, are you?"

"Jesus Christ!" Stiles sputters, barely restraining a scream ripping from his throat that would put any self-respecting werewolf to shame. His neck cranes around so fast that he's pretty sure he has whiplash, but he ignores it in favour of far more pressing matters.

Exhibit one, a werewolf stretched awkwardly on the backseat where he definitely shouldn't be. "What in the name of all that is good and holy are you doing in _my_ jeep?" 

His heart in his throat, Stiles takes several deep, shuddering breaths and stares incredulously at the bundled up figure who grins back lazily at him. "Is nothing sacred anymore?"

"Trying to sleep as I told ya." The twin yawns. Stiles couldn't tell in the darkness of the night which one he is. As it happens with majority of identical sets of twins (and yes he has the necessary statistics to prove this theory), there are means to tell them apart. Stiles recalls that one of them is slightly taller than the other, one has a huskier quality to his voice, and one has slightly more symmetrical features than the other. And one is slightly less prone to homicidal tendencies. 

"What are you doin' at this God forsaken hour?

The problem is that even with knowledge of the distinct features and the mannerisms that sets them apart, Stiles isn't still quite positive which difference marks which twin.

"Trying to figure out why a werewolf previously intent on murdering my friends and I, has taken refuge in my jeep. And where's your living, breathing clone?"

"Over at Danny's." The other teenager shrugs nonchalantly. "You forgot to lock your car."

"Jeep. And yes, I figured that out but don't you worry your handsome head over it." Stiles directs a glare at him, internally cringing. Just his luck, that he'd encounter the more bloodthirsty of the former alpha duo. 

"I'll make a point of locking it in future. Now you are welcome to get out of here, you don't even have to trouble yourself with the door!" He places one hand over the handle of door on the right side. Moisture laden gusts of wind stream inside. 

"See here? I'm opening it for you. Exit with all possible supernatural speed and I'll bid you a good-" thunder rumbles, drowning his voice momentarily "-night."

"I'll go, at dawn. Won't drive this wreck to school, I swear." Aiden exaggeratedly crosses his heart to emphasise his point. "I've a fantastic, functional motorbike and a reputation to uphold."

"You dare to invade my poor jeep and insult it in my very un-supernatural presence?!" Stiles exclaims, clutching his own heart. "I won't stand for such blatant abuse, our collective emotions are severely injured. Get out at once."

"Relax dude, 'm not here to rip your throat apart." Crystal-blue eyes gleam at him from the darkness, boring into his own dilated ones and Stiles groans as his poor head involuntarily strikes with the dashboard. Aiden lets out a howl of laughter.

"That's it. You're going to get that werewolf ass out at this very moment, or I'll call my dad. Don't doubt my stance on this, I'll do it in an instance. I've him on speed dial, okay?"

"You'll be dead before the first ring, if I wanted you to." Aiden responds, his voice impossibly low and infuriatingly calm. "But fine, I'll get my ass out. Here's to hoping that I find a park bench that isn't soaked through."

The last bit is muttered more to himself than Stiles, but he picks on it swiftly of course. Stiles may not have supernatural hearing but nothing ever gets past him. Absolutely _nothing._

"What d' you mean?" He inquires.

"What d' you mean, what d' you mean?"

Stiles stares at him, and suddenly realisation strikes him as a bolt of lightening that suddenly illuminates their surroundings. "You don't have anywhere to go, do you?"

"What else did you think, brainiac?"

On the rare occasion when Stiles finally runs out of words to speak it's either quite a momentous event, or an awful one. Recently there have been more of the latter than the former, which finally drives him to say.

"I think," Stiles takes a slow breath. "That you better call me Sherlock, I don't care much for comic supervillians, you know? And also that you'd better come inside, I- I can put you up on a couch or something, or there's a mattress in the attic upstairs- you know what? Just take my bed. I wouldn't mind that, at all. Like really, with my current nocturnal habits, I'm not going to get much sleep anyways."

Silence lingers for a while broken only by the distant roll of thunder clouds hanging low in the moonless sky.

To his utter bafflement, the werewolf chuckles. "Fine joke. You almost got me for a moment."

His brows knit together. "No, I really meant that. I'm completely in earnest."

Now it's Aiden's turn to peer at him as if Stiles is being possessed by a demonic spirit. "You actually want me to stay in your house?"

"Yes. What part of 'feel free to sleep in my bed' did you not get?"

"I'm fine here." Is the suddenly curt reply he receives.

"No, you're not. The backseat's not meant to be used as a sleeping place, you'll be cramped. And there's a storm outside, which is why I'm not letting you stay here."

"I'm not going inside."

"Why, are you allergic to indoors?"

"No, I'm allergic to pity." Aiden responds, stiffly. "I'm staying here."

"Well, I don't trust you- especially not when it comes to matters relating to my jeep. It's my first love, I'm practically married to it and I'm not leaving you alone with it, got that?"

"Then shove over and I'll be out in a flash-"

"In the rain, with nowhere to go? Have you taken leave of your senses?" Stiles cuts in, horrified. The gentle drizzle has fully developed into a cloudburst, rain patters relentlessly against the dark roof of his jeep and a strong gale wails outside- eerily similar to a banshee. "You'll catch your death out there."

"Why do you care anyway?" Aiden's lips quirk up in a smile, but it's an awful, forced thing with more irony than actual amusement behind it. "I'm a monster that could snap your neck at any moment. I was with the bad guys and I am a bad guy. I have done pretty terrible things that your naive human brain can't even imagine."

"My best friend who is my practically my brother in all but blood is a monster of the same species as you are, and he has on occasion tried to kill me when the wolfish tendencies take over." Stiles counters. "And just because you were with the bad guys and were a former bad guy doesn't means that you cannot redeem yourself, you know? And I'm sure all the shitty things you two have done were on orders of the other Alphas, it's not like you'd kill others just for the heck of it?" Stiles pauses, considering. "Would you?"

"I felt no remorse over killing people that I have." Aiden's well defined jaw tightens. "And I helped kill Boyd, and we'd have killed others if Deucalion expected it of us. You're willing to overlook that?"

"Lydia." Stiles exhales with a painful gasp. The memory of that moment is still too fresh, the utter horror when a helpless Derek was forced to impale his own Beta with his claws, Boyd's final moments before his death, Derek's silent anguish and Cora's shrieks- it is one of the numerous things that haunt him still. Stiles doesn't know if it would ever stop haunting him.

Aiden glances at him, dark chocolate eyes clouding with confusion.

"I don't give a damn about you, but I am concerned for her well-being? For whatever bizarre reason I fail to fathom, Lydia cares about you. And if I let you out in pouring rain now, you'll definitely catch a chill and pass it on her. I can't risk that, I can't let her suffer." He crosses his hands across his chest, not quite able to maintain eye contact with the twin.

"Werewolves don't catch common diseases." Aiden states, in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"I'm not risking it." Stiles replies primly, aware that he's beginning to wear the werewolf down.

.........................................

Aiden wakes up to sunlight straining to stream inside from behind the blinds, a room devoid of its owner, and the heavenly aroma of fresh pancakes.

Stiles watches the coffee brew and the eggs cook, he watches the sun rise further and further into the clear, pristine sky with no idication whatsoever about the cloudburst the night before and watches the condensation slip away from the kitchen windows, and he watches the hallway, waiting for the werewolf to come out at the scent of food.

"You. Are. Making. Breakfast."

Stiles neatly flips the pancake from the pan into the dish before turning around to grab plates from the kitchen cupboard. "Yes, I am- is there a problem? Did you wanted to make it?"

"I can't cook to save my life," Stiles observes the frown on Aiden's lips from where he stands in the doorway, running a quick hand through his dishevelled hair. It's a rare sight to see either of twin with less than impeccable appearance. There are traces of sleep in Aiden's chocolate eyes, he's barefoot and donning one of Stiles' plaid shirts that fit too snug to be comfortable and his hair sticks up in every direction. 

It's vaguely adorable and he ponders for a few seconds on the matters of his sexuality when the werewolf breaks the silence again." 

"Ethan's a passable chef though, but it was Ennis who kept us all well fed and nourished." He stops mid sentence, offers Stiles a tentative smile before settling down on the kitchen counter.

I'd like to think I'm more than a passable cook." Stiles says as he places a large platter in front of his guest, grinning in satisfaction as Aiden's eyes greedily drink in the divine sight. 

"And I really hope you are not averse to cinnamon pancakes? The extra whipped cream will make up if you are, they're practically drowning in it- see? Ah, and there's maple syrup, if you prefer that and I didn't know how you take your eggs, so I made them scrambled to stay on the safe side, and, well, the bacon speaks for itself, let's be honest. Oh, I forgot the milk! Wait a sec-"

"This is way too much, Stiles- I don't know how I'd repay you for this. I don't know why you decided to let me in, either. That's something I'd associate with Scott, not you."

"I didn't want you to get soaked in the rain- is that so hard to understand? And if you think that's typical of Scott, then maybe he's rubbing off me. Our mother's were best friends, and they were pregnant with us together and we were born just a week apart so-" He shrugs, and sets his own breakfast on table. 

Aiden's occupying his usual place, knowingly or not- but Stiles only minds a little. Like he does when he father trusts Scott to keep them both safe, rather than trust him to deal with his own shit. Like he used to do when Lydia Martin passed by him in the school corridor without ever acknowledging his existence.

Okay, he used to mind the latter a lot before he got immune to that charm of hers. But she does not ignore him anymore, at least not so blatantly. They have witty conversations, knowledge about supernatural, snark and a mutual love of the subjects maths and chemistry which usually tends to give people suicidal tendencies in common.

"Because I'm dangerous. I know you'd help a friend in need, but not a stranger- not someone who's a ruthless killer."

"I can't believe we're actually having this very enlightening conversation at breakfast table." Stiles sighs dramatically. He notes that Aiden tries and fails to sound causal.

"Where else to have it? We'll go back to pretending to hate each other's very guts after I'm out." Aiden shrugs and tucks in with gusto. About goddamn time. He moans, he actually moans as he wolfs down the first pancake. Stiles watches him down the whole plate, then consume his hot chocolate, then start on scrambled eggs in awe.

"What?" Aiden asks him, as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

"Mama McCall would have your hide for doing that. So if you're in her presence, it's preferable if you don't."

"Doing what? Eating breakfast?"

"Using my shirt's sleeve as a napkin when I bothered to put a clean one in front of you." Stiles says pointedly, although he doesn't mind much. He knows where this is going, knows how tender Scott's heart is and how Melissa adores werewolves who threaten Stiles.

"Well, I'll make sure not to be in her presence then." Aiden smiles tightly- and lo behold he's done with the scrambled eggs. Stiles has barely taken a bite of his first pancake. 

He know it's not true. They have a bet-pool on how long Scott and Melissa will hold out before they twins are adopted into their house, into the pack and into their hearts.

And Stiles is definitely placing a new one. The odds seem to favour him this once.


End file.
